beneath the window
of an unsuspecting lot.
Ashes mixed in dirt
under nondescript bush.
Mother’s gone,
long since moved away.
Current tenant leans out,
shakes rug as dust balls fly.
Leg lifted, dog pees,
unaware its daddy’s spot.
Occasionally, in summer’s sun,
butterflies grace his unmarked grave.
lillian the home poet 
Oh Lillian, this resonates deeply. The spot that is sacred to one person is bot to others. I identify with the interring of the ashes.
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Thank you, Toni. Your comments are always so special to me.
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Bless those occasional butterflies.
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Exactly!
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Oooo – what was your prompt for this one! Very effective in eliciting tears from my eyes!
Sent from my iPhone
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True story….missing my dad when I wrote it. And yes, his ashes are in front of a window where my mom used to live when we were in Iowa City.
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Very special word
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